To Be Human: Bleach, Grimmjow
by 666CrescentMoonDemon666
Summary: 'DISCONTINUED' One might think that being psychic would make life easier, but for this unsuspecting human girl it's made everything but. Imprisonment by Aizen comes with a constant struggle to maintain sanity, so how could anyone manage to fall in love? Grimmjow/OC
1. Chapter 1: Caging the Bird

**To Be Human**

_"Preservation over Pride, or Pride over Preservation?"_

"Laugh, scream, hope, and cry.

But don't ever lay down and die."

- Sara L.

**

* * *

**

**Chapter One: Caging the Bird**

_Why did they have to find me?_

That was all I could think about.

_Why did they have to take me away?_

For over a year now, I'd known that I would be taken. But it was only a few weeks ago that I realized it would be by _them_.

Their existence alone defied logic. It went against everything I knew; everything I'd ever been taught. And yet, there I was. Their prisoner. I didn't want to believe it at first, but I knew it had to be true. My intuition had never failed before, and this was not going to be any different.

For the first few moments, I wondered why they wanted someone like me. What did _I _have that they wanted? But then I realized how hideously obvious it was. It didn't take a psychic to know why they wanted me. Well, maybe it did. Seeing how _I_ was psychic.

I could see things. Mostly just little secrets about the people around me, like what they usually did at home, the grade on their last test, or what they were going to do when they got older. Rarely did I see something big like who was going to be the next Hannibal Lector. But I'd never been able to see things that were going to happen to me.

Not until a year ago.

The first vision of myself was the only vision I wished I'd never seen.

I saw myself, older, more mature, being led away with lamented eyes. I wasn't crying—I knew what was to come—but who wouldn't be broken by the knowledge that they were never going to see their loved ones again?

Leading my way in that play was a black-haired demon, his white skin and clothes mocking that of a pure entity. Something he was not. His listless emerald eyes, green-teared cheeks, and the sheathed sword at his hip were the only things that gave away his malicious nature. This man, this evil, single-horned demon; he was my captor, and I was his catch.

I never wanted to accept that nightmare as being possible, but fear that it may forced me to make the necessary preparations. My will was written along with several letters to my friends and family. My grades were kept up throughout school, I went on trips with my family, visited old relatives, and had more parties with my friends than I cared to count, even giving my first kiss to my long-time crush at Prom. I lived the fullest life possible in the short time I had left, wishing all the while that each second could have lasted longer.

Suicide. That was the excuse in my letter. I made sure to tell how happy everyone had made me, but the recent death of my father proved too great for my young heart to handle. So, I decided to end it. Simple as that. I begged for no one to repeat my actions (I didn't want to live with knowing that my lie had cost someone their life) and for them to take my personal philosophies to heart.

Although, I was sure that my twin brother and closest friends would see it as totally out of character for me to take my own life. It was. I was much too stubborn and optimistic for that; always preaching to them never to be down on themselves. If times were ever bad, all they needed was to wait for it to blow over. I always wanted to set an example for them.

Some example I turned out to be.

Maybe suicide wasn't the best excuse. I probably should have said I'd run away to join the circus or something. At least that would have been more believable. And how would they react to not being able to find my body?

Either way, it was too late to turn back now. My vision was already playing out before me.

A mere moment ago, he'd appeared before me—that half-helmed, ivory skinned Espada—and now I had been led away through the garganta and into _Las Noches_ herself. My eyes were down, hands behind me. Icy sweat slicked my palms. My chest felt strangely empty and cold, almost hollow. I could hear my heartbeat thumping unevenly within my ears. My knees trembled and I fought to keep standing.

I'd half expected to be bound in chains by this time, but my wrists were free of any such device. I wished I _had_ been cuffed. At least that way I might have been able to justify that I was a real prisoner; unable to escape. Being forced to play the part might've helped settle my mind.

My muscles twitched with each step, screaming to turn back and make a dash for the already-closed portal. Even if, by some miracle, the garganta _had_ still been open and I _had_ managed to make it to the other side, such a feat would've served only to slow my homecoming and annoy the audience I knew was impatient with my arrival.

Now, I just focused on keeping my breath even, thinking over all the actions I'd have to refrain from doing to keep myself alive. I didn't want to shorten my dwindling life expectancy.

My eyes turned up, allowing a glance at my escort's back. Undoubtedly, he was leading me to the throne room directly, where Aizen and the Espadas would be waiting for us. Even from within the garganta's passageway, I could feel the weight of their spiritual pressures boring down on me. It was like a sea of iron, the force so immense and evenly distributed.

Before I knew it, a white light appeared as the other side of the pathway opened, my eyes squinting from the disruption of darkness. Bolts and shocks of mammoth amounts of spirit energy rocketed through my system then, bending my knees in a partial slouch and I had to consciously force myself to move. My breath came in short gasps and my body temperature plummeted, thinking I might have been frozen alive had it not been for the sweat still on my palms.

I didn't want to have to face the monsters in that room, or the man sitting on that throne.

The light consumed us and we were on the other side, finding myself stopped at Ulquiorra's flank but unable to meet the gaze of the man above us. _Don't worry,_ I thought, trying to lighten the panic of my own mind. _He's just a melodramatic tyrant with a God-complex. Nothing to worry about._ But my entire body was trembling. Fear-struck nerves sent streaks of electricity up my spine, shaking me at my core. I felt like I could drop to my knees and scream myself to death, but I could barely find the will to breathe.

His voice came silken and smooth when we appeared, like some dreaded monster lulling its unsuspecting prey into a false sense of security.

"Welcome, Miss Sara, to _Las Noches_," he said, his voice reverberating through the enormous hallow chamber.

My eyes turned up and I found myself locked in the shadow of his dark eyes. He sat atop his marbled white pedestal and stared down at us. Even though I was at least fifty feet from his stand, I still had to tilt my head to see him.

Such an ordinary man he had once been, I thought. His once loose, wavy brown hair tangled in a charming mess was now slicked back like steel with one lock hanging beside the arch of his nose. The chocolate gems of his eyes used to be protected by a pair of elegant reading glasses, complimenting a smile that could melt a raging blizzard into a mid-summer's day. But now, those eyes were darkened with an evil so great, even the will of the mighty Arrancars could be broken by a glance.

I felt paralyzed; breathless under the force of this man's crushing presence.

_Miss, huh?_ Maybe he was just trying to be formal. Maybe he was trying to make a good impression on me. Maybe he was trying to win me over with minor formalities. _Putting up a good front for the latest addition to the family. Honestly. He really is a manipulative bastard._

Our eyes stayed locked like neither of us was willing to be the first to look away, but no matter how nervous or frightened I was, I had to remember that _he_ was the one responsible for my captivity. _He_ had taken me from my home and everything I knew, Ulquiorra just did the dirty work.

He may as well have killed me. I wished he had. At least then I wouldn't have to worry about falling off the precipice that was my life.

Perhaps it'd be better if I was dead. I didn't want to be his servant. I didn't want to be told what to do, where to sleep, when to eat, and how to live. He could cage my mind and body however he wanted, but he would never be able to imprison my heart.

"You seem surprisingly calm," he continued, surprisingly tentative. "Aren't you afraid?"

"I'd have to be crazy to say I _wasn't _scared. But, then again, I've never been known for my sanity." How did I manage to keep my voice so even? I _was_ shaking, wasn't I?

A bark of laughter rang out from the Espadas and a dark chill made my spine quiver, knowing that sound without having to know its source. It was Nnoitora's sadistic cackle. _Great,_ _I made him laugh,_ I thought and shrunk, holding my wrist nervously behind my back._ As if I'm not screwed enough already._

I allowed myself a glimpse at the ones around us. Instinctively, I picked out the individuals that I might have stood a chance with were I ever in need of hiding behind one of them. Nnoitora was obviously out of the question, along with Szayel and Yammy. There was no way Ulquiorra would ever consider helping me of his own freewill, and Barragan wouldn't be willing to do anything for my sake. Aaroniero wouldn't be of any help to me, and Halibel and Zommari's reactions were much too questionable to try.

Who did that leave me with?

Stark, maybe? Perhaps if I showed him my tears, made him pity me or remind him of his own young fracción, then maybe I could find momentary safety with the Primera.

That was nine-out-of-ten Espadas. All that was left was . . . was. . . .

I couldn't believe what my eyes were seeing at first. What was that creature standing there? Was he real? Truly real, and not some sick trick my mind was playing on me?

For that first moment when I laid my eyes on him, all my fears, my sense of danger, and all thoughts of impending doom disappeared. I knew his face (I'd seen it before) but seeing him now was something entirely different. Everything about him was so clear. From his wild turquoise hair to his untamed sapphire eyes and the white half-jaw on his right cheek, down his muscular torso and the Hollow hole centered in his abdomen, everything about him was simply remarkable.

Of all ten of the mighty Espadas, he was the wildest, the most unpredictable, and yet, without every having spoken a word to him, I felt that he was the only one I could trust. He was the reason I'd come without a fight; the only reason I didn't try to run when I first saw Ulquiorra. He was the only reason I was still standing in that room. This Arrancar—this Espada—I knew better than any of the others around him.

It took a moment for me to realize it, but we were staring at each other. His restless feline eyes, laden deep in azure seas were held in contrast to the copper-and-bronze of my own stare. They were so bright, so beautiful, so fierce. Did he remember me? Did he remember that day?

It took the direct interruption of that wanna-be-God to draw my attention away, and now I was facing him again. My sense of fear had dwindled into near nonexistence and I was no longer quivering. "Forgive me if I'm rushing things, but I would like for you to give us a demonstration of your abilities."

I looked down this time, unable to hold his gaze. "What do you wanna' know?" I asked.

"I won't know until I know what you're capable of."

"It's difficult to explain. I can't control it. It's mostly just little flashes of events or bits of information about people."

"Surely there is some sort of example you can give us."

I had to think for a moment and looked at sections of the floor like they were the most amazing things in the world.

"Well, I do know the names and ranks of the Espadas," I said after a short pause.

It seemed to catch his interest.

"Is that so? Well then, please, tell me. I'd love to hear what you know."

I nodded once then looked up. My audience was watching closely, their eyes intense with curiosity save for the few stoic ones intent on not getting involved. I picked them out in order of their ranks, memorizing where they were standing and naming them off in order of strongest to weakest.

"Stark the Primera, Barragan the Segunda, Halibel the Tercera, Ulquiorra the Cuatra, Nnoitora the Quinta, Zommari the Séptima, Szayel the Octava, Aaroniero the Novena, and Yammy the Décima."

I lowered my gaze and let my peripheral vision watch as their expressions shifted with surprise and mild cases of amazement. But one face in particular caught my attention. First it showed surprise, but after a moment it changed to confusion and then to something I couldn't quite recognize.

The face was of the only man whose name I hadn't called; whose rank I hadn't given. That beautiful, blue-eyed man: Grimmjow Jaggerjack, the Sexta Espada.

Aizen was looking at me thoughtfully when I turned back to him, his jaw leaned against his knuckles. I knew he'd caught my mistake—how I'd not called Grimmjow's name or rank—but he couldn't decide if it was intentional or not.

"I'm impressed, but you seem to have missed one," he said after a short silence. I kept my face low and nodded, folding my arm around my torso. When he realized I didn't have a response, he looked to the assembly around us and called a name. "Grimmjow."

I looked up with a start.

"Yeah?" His voice was gruff and indifferent, harsh even, but somehow addicting. I wanted him to say something more—anything at all.

"If you would please show our guest to her new living quarters, I'm sure she must be tired after all that's happened." Aizen glanced to me and I forced my eyes down, avoiding him as best I could. "I'm going to place her under your responsibility for the remainder of her stay. Please, take good care of her."

My breath hitched in my chest and thin turquoise eyebrows scrunched together. I felt my heart sputter and his upper lip twitched with outstanding irritation, kicking his foot into the tile while his hands shoved into his pockets. "Tch. Sure, whatever."

He approached then, vexed and glaring. Warning lights went off everywhere in my head and babbled on and on about getting out of there, but I was far too distracted to pay attention.

"And, Sara," Aizen started again and snapped me out of my trance. His eyes were intense on me, his fleeting smile sending a chill down my spine. It made me sick. _He_ made me sick. "If there's anything that would make your stay more comfortable, don't be afraid to ask."

My mouth went dry and I swallowed, trying to dispel the nasty flavor building in the back of my throat. Speaking was impossible.

I just nodded and turned edgily toward Grimmjow once he reached my side. He barely gave me a passing glance once he was there, walking by and making his way for the exit. What little remained of my self-esteem plummeted and I found myself watching his feet as I followed, shrunk to half my size.

Slowly, I became aware of an eerie shudder digging at the base of my spine. Something evil was watching me.

The image of some cruel, sinful, sadistic creature intruded on my thoughts and my body went rigid, forcing my head around before I could order it otherwise. The distance between us was so great, and yet I saw him as though he were standing right in front of me. That vile man. His slanted grey eye, thin boney face, and poisonous smile were all I could see. He was watching me. Every bit about him from his face to his stature screamed of wicked intent.

My eyes widened and every muscle in my body tensed, hardly leaving me my breath. My heart skipped and sputtered in a pathetic attempt to get the adrenaline going. My lungs were hyperventilating. An ocean of distress consumed me. So dark. So deep. I was sure I was going to drown in it.

_Nnoitora,_ I thought grimly, fearful of the name in itself. _Why does he have to look at me that way? What does he want?_

I realized I couldn't keep going at that pace any longer. My spine trembled with numbing fear and before I could think about anything else, adrenaline shot me and I raced out the door. I turned the corner and put my shoulder on the wall just to keep myself standing. My chest was heaving for air and my neck was dripping with icy sweat. My heart pounded in my throat until I thought I might choke on it. Had there ever been another time when I was so frightened?

_What _is_ he?_ I wondered, but then I wasn't sure if I wanted to know.

I was aware of the presence behind me then and looked to see Grimmjow standing there, an annoyed sneer wrinkling his forehead and pulling at his upper lip. I realized it must have looked so stupid for me to have run out like that and looked down in embarrassment, returning to his side and trying to hide my quivering knees.

He led me down a maze of corridors, each one the same as the last. White walls surrounded us, each section divided by pillars that went up to the arched ceiling, geometric cutouts protruding from the top and connecting each adjacent column. The ceiling was incredibly high, challenging that of a ballroom or a mansion. Two lights were placed between each division of wall, maybe fifteen or twenty feet above the ground and, facing up so the reflected light lit the halls evenly.

Every passage went on forever, but rarely did I see any doors.

Everything was so different. So strange. Never in my life had I seen such an enormous structure, let alone been _inside_ one.

_Las Noches_, as it was called, was Aizen's citadel within Hueco Mundo.

I found it ironic how even though Aizen and the Arrancars were known to be the antagonists in their current war with the Soul Society, everything inside _Las Noches_ was white. Even the traditional robes of the Arrancars were white, save for the black socks and seams and the occasional accessory. I'd always thought that white stood for "good" and "purity", and yet it was the evil ones who brandished it—

An impact snapped me from my thoughts and I stumbled away, flushed with embarrassment and thinking that I'd run into a wall. Instead, I found that the only thing before me was Grimmjow's back now that he'd stopped, glaring at me from over his shoulder while I averted my gaze. His eyes rolled and I saw the door. The archway was huge and it had a green color to it. He put his hand on the knob and pushed it open, unfolding a scene of utter blackness. I blink and stared at it for a moment, briefly wondering as to where the other side was.

"Go in already," Grimmjow barked and I leapt inside with a start.

I froze in place, a statue just outside the glow of the doorframe. I stared at the darkness, waiting for my eyes to adjust as dancing shadows and imaginary monsters sent my eyes whirling in every direction. Creepy feelings rose in the pit of my stomach. My shoulders tightened and lifted as a trembled crawled up my spine, goose bumps prickling along my arms.

A rustle and the tap of footsteps made the hair on my neck stand, but my vision was suddenly overtaken by the sting of bright lights. I gasped and lifted my arm, blinking to adjust. What I saw threw me for a loop.

The floor was a thick layer of blue-violet covering a space that could have easily fit half a football field. The walls were simple: a white drywall with nothing on them but a single barred window fifteen-feet up on the opposite wall. In the middle of the layout was a fifteen-by-twenty-foot charcoal rug with a blue velvet couch on it, a barstool placed across the other side. In front of the sofa was a low white coffee table with a bundle folded on top of it. Far over on the left wall was another door of the same jade green.

A sigh escaped my lips and I looked down, turning the palm of my right hand so I could see it. This new life was going to be so different, but just as long as my family and friends were safe, then I knew I'd eventually learn to get by.

The sound of footsteps started again and I saw Grimmjow approaching the table, taking one of his hands from its fold and picking up the bundle which he tossed to me, effortless despite the distance between us. I fumbled to catch it and looked at the strange cloth, realizing after a moment what it was. Arrancar robes.

"Get changed into those," he said then started to walk in my direction again. "Stay in here and don't go anywhere unless I say you can." He passed right by me for the second time, not letting me get a word in before he was through the door. "I'll be back later with your meal."

"M-meal?" I stuttered then turned. "Hey, wait! But I'm not—" The door shut in my face and my shoulders drooped. " . . . Hungry."

I looked at the paper-white bundle in my arms and frowned. I hated white. I hated that no one would care. And I hated that I had no say in the matter.

I walked to the table and undid the cord, pulling out the overcoat and looking it over. The entire inside was black along with the zipper and the rims of the cuffs, but the hakama was solid ivory. There were the traditional black socks and white sandals as well, and I had to admit that they did look sort of cool together. The only accessory, however, was a stretchy black sash, wider at one end than the other.

My gaze lowered and I sighed again, setting the things on the table and unzipping my jacket before I tossed it onto the couch, unlatching the chain-and-leather belt from my waist and kicking out of my shoes and socks. I stumbled out of a pair of black jeans and left myself in only a black tang top and girl boxers.

When I looked at the pile of white, I realized I was hesitating. I didn't want to put it on. My stubbornness and pride got the better of me that way, and there was the thought of what my figure would look like. _I can't believe I'm worrying about my figure,_ I thought. _I swear; I'm the only person in the world how can get kidnapped by Arrancars and still worry about their hips in baggy pants. _I shook my head at myself and clenched one hand, making the nails dig in so I would wake up. _Get over it,_ I ordered and bit my lip.

_Preservation over pride._

I slipped on the hakama and pulled it around my waist so it wouldn't drag, then grabbed the overcoat and put my arms through the sleeves. The shoulders were snug and gripped each curve with surprising comfort, zipping the front to the middle of my chest and flipping the tail back so it hung at my ankles. My tang top was all that kept my cleavage hidden. Only my throat was left exposed, a metal, ball-and-link necklace sitting proudly with no intention of being hidden.

Weighing down the links were six rings, each with its own design but placed in no particular order. Three rings had been tarnished over the years: a mood ring, an uroboros, and a nickel coil with four glass diamonds. It left only the remaining three—one of smoky hematite; another of silver with reed engravings; and the final band with Greek-like geometric spirals—in better condition. But no matter how they aged or how they lost their shine, their significance in my eyes never faded.

A little smile played on my lips before I went back to dressing. I pulled the sash around my waist and slid the socks and sandals on, tapping my toes on the ground so my feet could adjust.

The uniform fit surprisingly well, much to my dismay. Perhaps I'd misjudged just how closely they'd been monitoring me while I was still in the human world. Waiting, buying their time to decide if my powers were worth the trouble. Guess I really was worth the effort in the end. _What an honor,_ I mocked.

My arms fidgeted against my chest and I rubbed my forearm, circling my fingers around my wrist and looking down. Now that I was alone, there was nothing to distract me from my thoughts. No matter how much I didn't want to, I couldn't help but think about my family and my last few moments with them.

I couldn't help but wonder if my time with them had been memorable. Would they be able to look back on that day and remember what we did together? It felt like such an ordinary day, but I remembered my brother asking why my face looked so pale. Guess he would probably remember it because of that.

But how would he react to me not waking up for school the next morning? To not finding me already munching on a piece of toast when he woke up? How would he react to opening my bedroom door and not finding me, but a pile of letters addressed to him and everyone else? How would my friends react to not seeing me at school that day? How would everyone I knew react to the absence of one sweet, stubborn teenager who loved to write and draw, hang out with friends, and make people smile?

How many people would be crushed under the weight of my absence?

I shut my eyes and looked away, not wanting to think about it anymore. But the more I tried to push the thoughts away the more they pulled for attention.

The ache of the lump in my throat began to build, the sting of tears formed in my eyes, and the quivering breaths that would become sobs threatened to smother me. There had to be something in that accursed room that would distract me.

With a quick look through blurring eyes, I found something and hurried to it.

The light of the crescent moon was bright in my eyes, distracting and acutely white. My head tilted to prevent the tears from falling and I reached up to get rid of the dull burning. That calming face seemed to quell the distressed cadence in my chest, and the anxious churning in my gut dulled into the flitters of playful butterfly wings. With the pallid beams shining down from the deep arch, I imagined the light tickling my face until I let myself sit.

That soft ivory with its dots of grey was the only thing I could concentrate on. All my thoughts faded into unimportance and everything became clear.

My family was alive. My friends were okay.

They were safe and that was all that mattered.

They could move on. They could continue to grow and mature, make new friends, live their lives and start families of their own. That was all I wanted for them—to be happy. I wanted them to keep smiling and doing the things they loved, to grow strong and smart and be successful. And they could still do that, even without me.

Realizing all this lifted such a huge weight from my shoulders that for the first time since my arrival in _Las Noches_, I felt like I could breathe again.

My head tilted and the column of my neck showed to the milky trestles, a light tug on the corner of my lips lifting my heart from the pits of dread. At last, I was content, satisfied in the mere knowledge that the ones I cared for were safe.

Even if my own safety was a different matter.

* * *

Light breaths and sighs fell between parted lips, basking with closed eyes beneath the rain of a celestial smile. The glint of tiny stars shone among the darkness of the blue-black heavens, joined by a brighter white against the pale surface of my neck. I wasn't sure how long it had been since I took my seat, but I didn't feel it was important enough to keep track.

The occasional hum of a random tune resonated through my lips, tickling them to make the arc wider while my feet tilted back and forth and side to side in a playful game. The usual blaze of the thoughts that coursed through my mind seemed unusually quiet, and I was glad for it. I could pick and choose my thoughts for once, deciding which ones I wanted to hear rather than be forced to hear the ones that wanted to be heard.

It was that same uncharacteristic mental silence that allowed me to catch the click when it echoed through the air. My head tilted until my shoulders stopped and I saw an awkward view of the opening door, Grimmjow stepped in on the ceiling. A blink had my eyes adjust to the sight, noting momentarily how funny he looked upside-down.

"You seem pretty relaxed," he said. There was a sneer in his voice and his hands were hidden in the folds of his hakama again. "Confident about something?"

I rolled over then stood now that my peace was gone, instinctively patting myself free of any dirt only to find that there wasn't anything to be rid of.

"Nothing along the lines of escape," I muttered and then glanced up, "if that's what you were thinking."

Brilliant azure eyes narrowed and a thin upper lip twitched, partly disappearing behind a row of exterior teeth.

Read like a book and I didn't even try. My hands folded behind my back.

He stopped when he reached the carpet and turned to one side. "Come in," he barked curtly and a younger Arrancar in green entered from the door, a cart pushed in front of him. Atop the tray was a metallic dome with a little knob at the top, two glasses, a cloth napkin, and a pitcher beside it. He stopped the delivery beside the table and bowed before receiving the order to leave.

_He cannot expect me to be able to eat anything right now,_ I thought. "I'm not hungry."

"Never asked if you were."

I looked down and huffed quietly at a strand of hair hanging in my face, unable to register if my stomach felt empty or not.

I felt like there was something I should have said. Problem was, I had no idea what. Awkward silences were not my specialty in breaking, so even when ideas for a conversation-starter began going through my mind, I knew I'd never say anything. My mind just went through it as a precaution, judging which ones might have lasted the longest had I decided to use them.

"I don't get it," he said after a long silence.

It snapped me out of my thoughts and I looked up. He was staring at a corner of the table.

"Get what?"

"Why didn't you say it, even when you said the others'?"

"I don't . . . know what you're talking about."

It was true. Even if I was psychic, I couldn't read minds on a whim. No matter how badly I wanted to at times.

He turned in my direction and my heart fell into my stomach. His face was unreadable, but his eyes were carnal.

"I think you do."

His back was straight and his shoulders were curled like an animal ready to lunge. Such a threatening posture forced an instinctual reaction, and I was backpedaling until my back hit the wall. He was in front of me before I realized he was moving, curling forward and ready to make the kill.

"My name; my rank. You didn't say them and I wanna' know why."

"You know why," I croaked, surprised at how hoarse my voice had suddenly become.

His eyebrows pulled in and his hands came out of his pockets, cornering me like an alley cat with a baby mouse. Weak. Helpless. Nowhere to run.

"Refresh my memory."

There was a sour taste on my tongue. I tried to swallow, but it didn't make it past the lump in my throat. The muscles in my jaw strained and I couldn't look at him anymore, hiding my face behind a curtain of wavy brown.

"I don't care what the others think about me. Their opinions don't mean anything. But you—I . . . I knew you would've been mad if I mentioned you, so I didn't. I didn't want you to think I was some know-it-all brat who had no purpose even being alive. . . ."

"And what? _My_ opinion means so much to you?"

"More than theirs."

"Why?"

"I-I don't know."

There was a loud bang and I yelped, his hand slamming onto the wall beside my ear. A faint growl reverberated from his chest and out through his teeth, feeling myself shrink as I pushed closer to the wall.

"Stop saying you don't know and tell me." His voice was a harsh growl. "I'm not big on patience today."

"I-it's because you don't remember me!" It only took the time to say it for me to regret where this conversation was going to lead. My knees were trembling as badly as my voice, and I felt the wall was the only thing keeping me on my feet.

There was a pause and everything went quiet. The only sounds came from the low whispers of his breath. So close, so soft. I was amazed at how quickly the choking fear vanished and a sharp gulp flooded my lungs, my heart racing with renewed vigor. _When had I stopped breathing?_

There was a different smell in the air now. An inconsistent flavor that I couldn't place, but found it somehow inviting. Unfamiliar but acutely enticing. I took another breath to find it again, consciously having to restrain myself when I realized I was about to lean forward.

I allowed a peek from behind the wall of hair, eyes half-lidded, and saw his demeanor hindered by thought. He was quiet, his sharp eyes rounded with a careful silence.

"I know it probably wasn't anything worth noting," I said after an unbearable silence, just wanting to get the subject over with before he asked a question I couldn't answer. "And I can't blame you if you don't remember . . . but I do.

"Three months ago, Aizen sent you to the World of the Living for a mission. You got into a fight with a Soul Reaper while you were there and he hit you hard enough to throw you into a high school campus below, and you destroyed one of the main buildings.

"You must've noticed that . . . that the building you hit was empty. The school had been evacuated." I swallowed to keep my voice steady, relieved that the lump had dissipated. "When you got up, you saw someone standing inside the smoke with you: a girl. The same girl who had pulled a fire alarm moments earlier and caused the evacuation.

"That girl was me. I saw the building be destroyed and managed to get everyone out in time. But watching you fight was enough to drive me insane with panic. I ran to see if you'd been hurt, but then you got up and I couldn't believe my eyes. I knew you weren't human, but I didn't want to believe what you were. . . ." I trailed off, not knowing how to continue anymore.

My entire body was shaking and shivering like I was in a freezer, but the shudders racing up my spine weren't from the temperature.

"And what was I?" he asked. His voice was a faint whisper, barely above a breath.

I looked down, slowing my breathing to a point where it wouldn't tremble. My fingertips dug into the hard plaster and an unexpected quake raced up my spine, gnashing my teeth to keep my mouth shut. A warm rush of air intruded on my neck, the heat of this breath nearly rolling my eyes in the back of my head.

He was so close to me. So unbearably close that I could have extended my fingers and touched him. I could feel the heat radiating off his body, prickling along my skin, and I couldn't stop myself from peeking.

The hard lines of his ribs stuck out from his torso, his sculpted chest and neck unfairly—if only partially—obscured by his white vest. His muscled stomach lended into compact hips and the pillars of his forearms were hidden halfway by ruffled sleeves.

My eyes closed, committing that image to memory as the shudder made my spine seize again.

"The reason I would be taken away. . . ."

The only sound came from a short exhale of hot breath, and then, without warning, the floor gave out under me. My knees buckled and I hit the ground, flashes of light skimming from eye to eye and around in circles and my breath hitched in my throat.

All he did was lean away and it left me feeling as though I were in a void, empty without the protective encasing of his energy.

My head spun in too many directions to keep track of. There was the indistinct tapping of receding footsteps and I grabbed along the ground as if to stop them.

"Don't be ridiculous," I heard him say as he retreated.

I inhaled sharply and coughed, watching the blur of his figure getting smaller and smaller until it nearly blended with the background.

"W-wait!" I called and the tapping stopped.

He glanced over his shoulder.

"What?"

"I-if it's not t-t-oo much to ask . . ." I gasped. "Can I have a pen and some paper?"

"What for?"

"It helps sometimes . . . with my visions. If I write things down. . . ."

I heard no response, but thought I saw the blur of turquoise bob with what might have been a nod. My mind wouldn't tell me for sure.

A second later the door opened and closed, and my arms wouldn't hold me anymore. I didn't remember feeling my strength leave or if I hit my head on landing. All I remembered was a brief feeling of terror and everything suddenly went black.

* * *

Thanks for reading! If you want to check out a drawing of my character, head to my deviantart (link located on profile) and look for the picture labeled "Me as an Arrancar".


	2. Chapter 2: Deny the Rule

**Chapter Two: Deny the Rule**

I watched him walk, the man clad in white armor. I never saw his face, but I knew who he was. He was a man. Just a man, a warrior, who wanted to be something more. For whatever reason, he wanted to be a king.

He was so strong and yet he wanted to be even stronger. It was like he couldn't see how great he already was. It confused me. I felt sorry for him.

There were others with him at times. I counted five, and they walked at his flanks. But after a while, they disappeared, too. For so long, he walked alone, kicking flurries of ivory sand from the pads of his feet.

The path he walked was wide, but as he went on it grew smaller and harder to see. Sometimes it became very small, and other times it grew wide again, but it never returned to its original size.

It didn't take long before the path disappeared completely, but he just kept moving forward. _Alone if he must._ All I could think about was wanting him to keep going straight. _Just keep going, _I thought, pleading in mute desperation._ Keep going straight and you'll find the path again. Don't go anywhere else! Please!_ But no matter how I pleaded, no matter how I begged, he could not hear me. It wasn't long before he finally did stray from his road.

Another man appeared before him. No words were said that I could hear, but I knew this man wanted the warrior to serve him, promising a strength like no other. I tried to call out, tried to tell the warrior not to agree, but they couldn't hear me. The darkness encroached as he lowered to one knee and the cruel man placed his hand atop the warrior's head, a wicked smile curving his lips. _Don't do it!_ I cried._ You'll never get to be king now! No!_

"_NO!"_ I howled and jolted into a sitting position.

Stiff muscles popped and I groaned. My hands pawed at the small of my back and I arched in discomfort, stretching away the soreness. Cracks and pops sounded from the joints in my back and the tension released with each unpleasant noise, a delighted sigh leaving my lips and I realized where I was.

"When did I get on the couch?" I asked and rubbed the sleep from my eye.

There was a vivid recollection of passing out on the floor, but nothing about getting to the sofa. So, how . . . ?

A glance to the side confirmed my suspicions.

A centimeter thick stack of white unlined paper sat atop the table, crowned by a pair of black ball-point pens.

My cheeks flushed and my thumbnail pressed to my bottom lip, remembering my request. Grimmjow must have brought them while I was out, but did that mean he was the one who put me on the couch?

My ears were getting hot from the notion and I imagined him lifting me from the floor and carrying me to the couch. I envisioned myself cradled in those powerful arms, one around my legs and the other my shoulders, head pressed limply to his barren, muscular chest. So close, so unbearably close.

Too embarrassed to let myself delve any deeper, I remembered my dream and scooted off the couch until the lower portion of my body was underneath the table. I grabbed a pen and a sheet from atop the stack and slid the rest away, scratching the pen down so the ink would flow. I jotted down the quickest, most accurate title I could think of and watched the letters form across the top-center of the page.

_He Who Would Become King_

A lengthy name for something I wanted to keep short.

On the first page, I noted the major details of my dream and then added some smaller ones, interpreting their meanings as best I could before grabbing a second sheet.

My leg bobbed shallowly under the low table, the knuckle of my pointer finger pressed into the gap between my lips. Electric blue nails tapped rhythmically on the surface to my left, scratching down words until I paused, waited, and then wrote again.

That pattern continued for an uncounted amount of minutes, interrupted only for occasional pacing or a change in sitting position. Eventually, I found myself laying across the table, my feet kicking in the air and I lifted the paper to read what I had written. A smile of approval spread along my lips and then I added a few bits of dialogue, my dream now changed into the form of a story, but not yet complete.

Amidst all the concentration, there was a brief click that I almost missed and I wondered for a moment what it was. But when a sick feeling in my gut made me look up, I felt my heart sink.

"U-Ulquiorra," I gasped in surprise.

He shut the door behind him.

"You already have that fool running errands for you, I see."

My eyebrows came together defensively and I pushed up on my arms.

"I didn't make Grimmjow do anything," I defended. "I made a request and he did it of his own accord. That's all."

His green eyes stared for a moment, studying my face and committing my reaction to memory for whatever reason. _What's he here for anyway?_ I wondered, annoyed at how I was unable to control my would have been _very_ convenient to know he was coming.

I found myself hating his face as he walked over, his hands hidden in his pockets as if in some form of passive superiority.

Those lifeless eyes; those fake tears. Everything about him was fake to me. He wasn't a real person—nothing more than a puppet of Aizen's will.

The accuracy of that thought made the corner of my lip tug with amusement, getting to my feet when he reached the carpet. He went straight to the cart and lifted the top off.

Only now did I remember the food. I hadn't been paying enough attention to my own stomach to tell if I was hungry or not, but something about the thought of eating Arrancar chow made my appetite go south.

The chicken breast was cold as ice and I noticed the yellow-tint and black specks to be lemon-pepper seasoning. The string beans, I imagined, must have gone stale.

But it wasn't my most favorite of meals, anyway.

"You haven't even touched your food," he said.

"I haven't had much of an appetite lately. Not with the whole I'm-never-going-to-see-my-family-again thing."

He set the top down, a silent clang of hollow metal panging against porcelain.

"Whether you're hungry or not is irrelevant. Part of your duty here is to stay alive, and it will be troublesome for us if you die before we can use you."

I felt a sting at the base of my spine. My fingertips twitched at my sides, stopped halfway from forming a fist as I bit the inside of my cheek.

Under normal circumstances I had no care in the world as to how other people viewed me. I never cared if people thought I was gothic or even emo. I didn't even care about the time someone thought I was a drug addict. But no matter how much those opinions never bothered me, being referred to as something to be used—like some sort of _tool_—was not going to be added to the lift of names I'd been called.

"Is that all I am to you guys? Just a tool with no other purpose than serving Aizen?"

"Correct." That was his answer. Plain and simple. "That's what you are, and it's what everyone in _Las Noches_ is. We exist solely to serve Lord Aizen and to fulfill his ambitions."

_Now he's just getting on my nerves_, I thought, arms folding over my chest.

"Somehow I find it hard to believe that's the reason why you're here."

"It is, but only part of it. I'm here to make you admit it for yourself." His eyes moved so he was looking at me, but the rest of him staid still like a corpse. Over my sense of anger, the sick feeling grew and made my stomach churn deeper. "Your body, your powers, your life. They all belong to Lord Aizen now. That became true the moment you put that uniform on. The purpose of your existence is to serve Lord Aizen and fulfill his ambitions, and you must admit that for yourself." His eyes narrowed ever so slightly as if to scrutinize my very being. "You belong to us."

I watched his face, wondering if I would be able to see any hints of emotion, but there were none. There never was. He was just that kind of person: an emotionless doll.

That was Ulquiorra. Nothing more than a puppet of Aizen's bidding. But still he had the nerve to tell me I was the same. He had the nerve to say right to my face that I was nothing more than a pawn in another man's game.

No matter how much I tried not caring, that was something I wasn't going to stand for.

In the back of my head, I heard a voice warning me to stop.

"You should know my answer to that, Ulquiorra. You should know what I would say to it." My arms unfurled and I glared hard enough for my brown to twitch from the strain. "You should know that I will _never_ serve Aizen, and I will _not_ allow you to say that I'm just one of his measly little pawns."

The slightest hint of change disrupted the concrete image of his face. A perception of accomplishment elated me. It wasn't much; just a slight dilation of the eyes and shift in stance, but it was a start and I wanted to see more. I wanted to make that puppet's face twist and crack, disgusted and displeased. I wanted him to know that I would not submit. Not to him, not to the Espadas, and certainly not to Aizen. (I wasn't rebellious by nature, but this was too good an opportunity to pass up.)

"I will not submit to you or to Aizen. My body is my own, as are my heart, my will, and especially my powers. I will use them however _I_ see fit, not how you or Aizen say I should. So spare me your lectures and your empty threats. I'm not gonna' obey you no matter what you say."

There was a pause and his stance shifted, turning his body in my direction and pivoting his head until he was looking right at me. My gut churned again and I got a bad feeling, like I'd done something I shouldn't have.

"Empty threats?" he repeated shallowly. "What makes you say that?"

I held in the urge to swallow.

"I'm not as stupid as you seem to think I am. If Aizen's gonna' use my powers, then he needs me alive and that means you can threaten me all you want but you can't do anything to back it up. So there's no point in me being afraid of you if you can't kill me."

"Is that what you think?"

I didn't answer. I _couldn't_ answer. Something didn't feel right.

I waited until his eyes narrowed just a tiny bit, and then his back was turned. I almost let out my breath. Almost let myself feel relieved and to think he was finally going to go, but then my heart was in my throat and I knew something was about to go horribly wrong.

He stopped in front of the door but didn't open it, a dull click shattering the quiet that had grown. My eyes flew wide and my heart dead-panned square in my stomach.

He locked the door.

The consequences of my decision dawned on me in a single instant of gut-wrenching horror. My instincts reacted before my mind had time to recover. I tried to turn—tried to run—but there was no getting away.

I never saw him get in front of me. I couldn't tell if he used his hand or his foot, but he struck my ribcage like a battering ram and I hit the wall. The air left me in a rush and I crumpled to the floor, clawing at my airway until a sharp gasp flooded my lungs. A harsh pain kept me from inhaling as much as I would have liked.

His feet were before me now, but I couldn't bring myself to look up, it hurt so much.

He acted like nothing had happened. "It may be against Lord Aizen's wishes for me to kill you, but that shouldn't give you any sense of solace as to what I could do to you."

_Bastard,_ I thought.

My teeth clenched with a hiss and I put my hand on the ground, forcing myself up despite the knife jabbing in my sternum. My breath was shaky and my body trembled, knees slouching and threatening to buckle under me. I grasped the white fabric on my chest, listening to the clinking of the rings around my neck. The sound seemed to wake me.

His eyes hardened and I swallowed as many breaths as the pain would allow.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked, irked at my resilience.

"Not gonna' . . . submit to you. . . ." I groaned, smirking when I caught another shift in his expression.

There was a flash of white and a solid crack collided with my jaw, bending the bones just before the brink of snapping so they dented and bounced back like a trampoline. I was on the ground again, skidding on hard marble until the fiction brought me to a stop, in too much pain to even find the strength for screaming.

The world spun in atrocious circles. I couldn't tell up from down or left from right, but I somehow had the sense to get on my forearms and breathe. There was a knife in my jawbone, twisting and digging as I whimpered and felt it pop into place again. The burning in my chest was dulled only by the new pang of my split lip and screaming jaw, a fierce metallic taste surging across my tongue. I tried to swallow, but immediately regretted it.

Something hit dead-center in my stomach and threw me again into the wall. This time my head hit hard enough to crack the drywall, shoving my insides up into my throat until I was croaking to get my breath back.

Oxygen returned with a flooding gasp and a hand grabbed the collar of my shirt, slamming my limp form into the wall before another sharp impact fell to the sore spot in my chest.

I had no idea I could scream so loud.

Tears stung the corners of my eyes but I held them in, determined even now to keep Ulquiorra from the pride of bringing my tears. Dim whimpers came with each breath, grasping his thin white wrist until my own knuckles were white enough to match.

"Say you will submit and I'll leave you alone," he hissed. "Say it. Swear you will serve Lord Aizen and that you know your place." He pushed me harder into the wall, constricting my airway and putting more pressure on my chest. "Say it."

I gagged and bleated, a hot stream falling from my lip while my fingers strained around his arm. Heart rushing in my chest, I gnashed my teeth and hissed. _"No!"_

He slapped me again and my head hit the wall.

Reality was slipping away. I didn't want to stay awake anymore. I didn't want him to keep hurting me like this. I could hardly keep my eyes open but I was afraid he'd hit me again. I was afraid he'd keep hurting me even after I gave up. There was no way I would let him win. I couldn't give in to him.

_Pride over preservation._

A defiant growl hissed between my teeth and I pulled on his arm, determined to break free now more than ever. "Let. Me. _GO_!" I ordered and pulled harshly as my nails scratched against his stone-like hierro.

A dim clinking disrupted our quarrel in that instant and a sound between my ears overtook my senses, blurring the world in a haze of white shapes. There was a roaring, muffled under layer upon layer of deadening cotton. Amid the haze, I saw a flash—a brief streak of light—and all grew still.

The vicious attacks did not continue. When I realized I had enough sense to think again, I wondered why everything was so calm. The haze faded and I looked at Ulquiorra's face. Something was different. Something . . . seemed off about him. I searched for it, staring hard and waiting for it to click.

After an indistinct second passed, I finally saw what it was. On his left cheek was a thin line of something I didn't recognize. Some black film that, for some reason, seemed out of character to be there. Maybe it wasn't black. Was it . . . some kind of red?

Then, suddenly, I landed hard on my knees and felt the unforgiving electric shocks of pain in my lower spine. But that wasn't what got me. Why did he . . . let me go?

_There is no way that should've worked,_ I thought.

It felt as though I was in a daze, not fully registering all of this as real. Vaguely, I heard the door open and close. Getting to my feet was a haze, as was navigating my way through the bedroom and into the bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror. I was a bloody mess.

_Jeez,_ I thought, inspecting the ill-defined handprint on my jaw._ He slaps harder than a girl._ I put my hand on my stomach and felt the pain of the kick—a dull soreness telling me not to put anymore pressure on it—then touched the center of my chest, a hiss of pain forcing me to pull away. "That's gonna' leave a mark," I whined and licked the blood from the corner of my mouth, rubbing my sore jaw. I limped to the wall and sank to the floor with a heavy sigh.

That was my first fight since the end of my sophomore year in high school, but at least _then_ I stood a chance. Getting into a fist-fight with Ulquiorra was going to have to stay off my to-do list if I wanted to keep all my limbs. I sincerely doubted I'd be able to hold up against a second beating like that.

After a moment without thought, I realized my breath was beginning to tremble and shut my eyes in protest. _Don't start this here,_ I groaned inwardly. _Not now. Now's not the time for tears._

My foot kicked against the porcelain toilet in aggravation and I pushed my palm on the flat surface of my forehead, listening to the _thudding, thudding, thudding_ now that my head was smacking the drywall, all in an attempt to draw my attention away from the approaching tears. It proved to be a rather effective alternative to thinking. The bump still hurt, so I just pivoted my head to avoid it.

After a little while, the only thing there was to concentrate on was the dull thuds of my skull beating the wall. All other senses faded into nothingness after an uncountable amount of seconds and a dull rhythm of tapping appeared before long, growing louder until it stopped, picked up by the sound of wheels dragging on tracks, and then resumed. Closer, more blatant.

A heavy feeling came into the room and something took hold of my shoulder with startling force, pulling me from the ground with a terrified gasp. I threw my arms out and felt them shove into something hard, earning a firm, "Knock it off!" before my eyes actually opened.

Two planes were set in front of me, soft but firm, each standing against the deep ridges of hard chest muscles and compacted ribs. All set into one tight torso and held together by an impossibly hard layer of warm, soft skin. It was astonishingly pleasant under my hands, the temperature and the feel of his body. Inviting despite its toughness. Unlike the cold, stone-like veneer of Ulquiorra's flesh.

He stood, anchored at first, and then looked down. My hands had yet to move.

The second I realized what had happened, my reserve vanished in a plume of smoke and the tears hit. My hands flew to my face and a painful sob choked me. _No, don't look at me,_ I pleaded._ I don't want you to see me like this. Go away, Grimmjow, please!_

I turned away and cried into my hands, shrinking in and waiting for him to scold me on how stupid I was for crying. After all, what reason did I have to cry? Ulquiorra wasn't here anymore and I was still alive. Sure, I was a little worse for wear, but I'd heal.

My tears were pointless but I just couldn't find the will to stop. Cuffs pressed against my eyelids in an attempt to soak up the waterworks, wiping my nose on one with my shoulders trembling. It was making my ribs ache, but only now did I realize how quiet it was. There was a silent rustle.

"Here," I heard after a moment and looked up, blushing when I saw he was offering me a washcloth which I quickly took. "Are you always like this?" He wasn't looking at me, probably just trying to keep it from getting quiet again.

"Not really." My voice was still shaking, but not as bad as I thought it would. I dabbed the cloth under my eyes. "I usually have better self-control than this. It's probably just from the shock. It could've been a lot worse."

"What the hell did you do to piss him off that badly?"

I kept my head down, wondering if it would be wise to tell the truth. He'd probably find out on his own anyway.

"He wanted me to swear servitude to Aizen, but I didn't want to. . . ."

"So he did this?"

I nodded once, sniffing and wiping my eyes off again. "Yeah, but I can't really blame him. I did sound like an ass."

Why did I smile? What about that was amusing?

A thin turquoise eyebrow went up as he finally looked at me. "And you find that funny?"

"N-no," I stuttered and fidgeted with the damp follicles. "I just . . . I have a weird sense of humor."

"No shit," he huffed and snatched the towel from me, making me watch as he ran it under the faucet then pressed a cold, wet corner to my lip. I was floundering when he took it back and saw the bright red stain. "You missed some."

"Th-thanks," was all I could bring myself to say. Heat and tension were spreading up my ears and down my neck. My shoulders were tight and I shuffled around him until I managed my way out the door, praying that he hadn't seen my blush. Even in my mind, I found myself speechless, torn between the dilemma of his lack of scolding me or the insignificant gesture with the cloth. . . .

What possessed him to do such a thing puzzled me more than the secret of the universe.

I sat on the sofa without even realizing the distance I'd crossed. My hands were shaking from the nerves while I reorganized my papers, trying to focus on the chicken scratch from earlier. The dialogue wasn't complete yet, so I read it over in hopes of finding out how to finish it.

_Soon, one of his followers spoke to him. He said, "For many years we have served you, my lord, but I fear that we have stopped gaining power. We can no longer become strong for you."_

_"So?" the man said._

_"We have come to an agreement, my friends and I. We will no longer serve you if we cannot fulfill our purpose."_

_But the man didn't care. He would not give up on his dream._

_"Cowards," he mocked, "do as you wish. Die for all I care, but I will not stop until I am king."_

_"And so you shall, my lord, for only you can become strong while we remain the same. But before you go, you must take our powers. Destroy our bodies and take our strength for your own. Then your dream shall become real."_

_The man looked to his followers with intrigue and distain. Such fools they were, but even in death they could still be of use to him._

_"Very well," he said and threw himself at them. "I will take your powers, and as part of my own flesh you will see what it will be like to become king!"_

The pen pressed to my bottom lip while I thought for the next few lines, already in my own little world. As usual, reality itself could be melting away but as long as I had a pen in my hand I'd be totally unaware until I looked up two seconds _after_ it happened.

All notions of previous encounters were nothing more than inconsequential derivatives of memory now, of no more significance than a fly on the African savanna. My only focus, at this point, was on the paper in front of—

"You already started somethin'?" a voice in my ear asked and a shriek blurted from my lips.

"J-jeez," I squeaked and leered over my shoulder to see him there, piercing azure eyes staring. Calm but otherwise unreadable. "W-well, yeah," I breathed. "There's nothing else to do."

"What is it?" he asked, indifferent and relatively uninterested.

"Just something that hit me when I woke up." I looked back at the page. "I thought it was a good idea so I figured I'd write it down. Oh, uh, thanks for the paper by the way."

He gave a vague nod then made his way around the couch.

The coolness of his stride drew my attention with frightening efficiency, watching as his dense muscles curved the tight skin around his hips, the Hollow hole bending with every step; I listened until the rhythmic tapping of sandaled feet came to a stop. His shirt moved and the crooked six peeked out from underneath, its awkward tilt staring with a curve and hook so bestial that it rivaled his own animosity. Since when could a _number_ seem so savage, I wondered. So ferocious and unrestrained that it sent a shiver crawling up my spine? But perhaps it was merely its owner's ingrained ruthlessness that made it seem that way.

"You didn't even touch it," he said seemingly out of nowhere, and then I realized what he was talking about.

My lack of appetite was beginning to become a popular subject.

"I'm not hungry," I muttered as he set the lid down.

"You're _gonna_ get hungry sometime."

"It's not easy finding the strength to eat right now."

"You won't have any strength at all unless you eat something." His voice seemed to sharpen towards the end.

I started fidgeting, not used to being the center of a conversation and examined the papers in a meaningless attempt at distracting myself. "You try eating after you've been ripped away from everything you ever knew and loved."

And then he was in front of me. An aggressive hand took hold of my shoulder and shoved me into the cushion at my back, forcing a yelp from the abrupt movement as vivid eyes glared hard with irritation. "Don't get snippy with me," he warned in a feral growl, a set of fangs bared between thin lips. "I'm not the kind of person you wanna piss off."

My eyes shut tight and turned away. "I-I wasn't trying to be rude. I just—It didn't come out the way I wanted it to."

"Then how were you gonna say it?" he demanded, fingers rigid against my collar bone.

The rings were clinking around my neck and I thought I saw the room getting fuzzy.

"What I meant was . . . I just got taken away from my friends, my family, and everything I knew. Food isn't exactly one of my main concerns because of that. . . ." My voice began to crack, so I stopped and swallowed, wetting my throat so it wouldn't tremble as badly.

It was quiet for a minute, each of us listening to the sound of the other's breath. Mine was short and strained. His was low and smooth.

The pressure released after a moment and he leaned away, looking down with a perfect feline stature, but I couldn't look higher than his knees.

"But it's my concern now," he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else.

Curiosity gave me the strength to look up, wanting to know about the new tone and wondering if his face had changed at all. The hard lines of his brow were still there, but his piercing eyes seemed to have softened just a bit.

"Aizen put you in my charge, so it'll be on _my_ head if something happens to you."

_On his head . . . if I get hurt? Am I really worth so much to that man? _The thought forced something to click in my head and I inhaled sharply, my chest giving sore protests until I spoke, quick and insistent. "That doesn't mean you'll get in trouble for what Ulquiorra did, does it?"

There was a longer pause this time. His forehead wrinkled and his jaw tightened, trying to decipher the purpose in my question. Guess I'd caught _him_ off guard for a change. _Cool._

His answer came slow like he was trying to hide a thought, his face angling without his notice. "I don't think so, but it depends on how Aizen sees it."

I nodded once then tried to straighten the crinkles on the page, finding my throat unusually dry.

"I hope you don't get in trouble," I muttered. "It wasn't your fault."

My hand lifted from the page when I realized it was futile to try to get rid of the wrinkles, and found its way to the center of my chest. It brushed the sore spot there and I flinched, bumping the chain of rings so they clinked together. I wondered vaguely as to whether or not something had been broken, but figured there would be a significantly greater amount of pain had that been the case.

A ghostly white shadow shifted before me and drew my attention up, staring into tuffs of light blue. "What exactly is that anyway?" he asked, trying to read the title from his awkward angle. "_He Who Would Become King_."

I blinked twice then leaned to the side so I could see his face. "It's just something that I came up with to pass the time," I said, halfway lying, halfway telling the truth.

I _was_ writing it to kill time, but I didn't make it up.

"It sounds weird."

I feigned a gasp and pretended to act insulted, hoping he could pick up on it as I exaggerate a frown. "No it doesn't! You'd like it!"

He looked up then, peering from behind the four blue strands hanging over his eyes. A slow smirk spread along his face and one end reached almost to his left ear while the other disappeared beneath the plate jaw filled with razor sharp teeth. A bizarre feeling crept into the pit of my stomach and I tried to swallow it back, eyes wider while butterflies churned the emptiness in me.

"Oh, yeah?" For a reason I couldn't fathom, he seemed interested for once. "And what makes you say that?"

"W-well," I stuttered and swallowed again, looking at the page nervously. "I just think it's something you might like. . . . That's all. . . ."

_After all, it may have been my dream, but it was your story._

* * *

If anyone is interested, I am willing to also submit _He Who Would Become King_, but before I do I want to know what my readers think. Please Review to give me your answer if I should post it as a seperate [short] story or not. The more votes, the merrier!

Thanks!


	3. Chapter 3: A Palace of Pain and Secrets

**Chapter Three: A Palace of Pain and Secrets**

The sun was hot on my back. So warm, so real.

There was the sound of waves crashing on the sandy shoreline. The scent of the salty gulf blew in my face while gulls cawed and squabbled from above.

I watched my family running along the beach, the wind in our faces and the sand blowing like little needles on our legs. My mother called to me and I smiled, waving my arms wildly before I sprinted to join them.

We frolicked for hours in the surf, dunking each other in the waves and getting dunked ourselves. I made a habit of leaping on my brothers' backs just for a chance at revenge. When we grew waterlogged and raw from the saltwater, we retired to lie on the sun-heated sands where I lay beside my mother quietly, enjoying the tranquility of the crashing waves and even the blinding sun, draping my arm over my eyes as a shield from the blazing light. _I'm home,_ I thought with a blissful sigh. _I'll never have to go back to that place. I can stay here forever now._

I smiled widely then got back to my feet, chasing my brother after realizing he'd challenged me to a race across the shore. My lungs ached with the heat of the salty air, but I pushed myself on until an encroaching darkness consumed me. . . .

A heaving chest woke me from my sleep, panting and gagging as the world spun in atrocious circles.

Now, I was back in reality and galloping for the bathroom, grasping the porcelain sink as my stomach wrenched and heaved dryly. The sound disgusted me, but nowhere near as badly as the acidic fire coating the back of my throat and tongue. White dots spun and swirled tauntingly around my head, threatening to have me topple over as I splashed cold water on my face.

_Great,_ I thought. _Even my own body is conspiring against me. . . ._

It wasn't so much that I didn't _want_ to eat as it was the _thought_ of eating. Something about it sickened me; though, I wasn't sure what or why. Maybe I feared that it would taste good, or that I would grow attached to the taste of servant's food. Maybe I was afraid of tainting my body with the spoils of my enemies.

No matter how much I needed it, I would not let myself eat those foul, foreign dishes.

Stubbornness got the better of me that way.

A moan parted my lips and I turned the faucet off, the icy water helping to revive my senses. I fumbled through a maze of cupboards until I found the towels and dabbed my face in it, wondering aimlessly as to what I needed so much storage space for.

The whole "palace" theme was becoming more of a nuisance now that I was used to it.

In the beginning, I was thunderstruck at how expansive everything was, but quickly it became _too_ big. (One of my visions gave me a general idea of how big _Las Noches_ really was: a three day trek, nonstop, from one side to the other.) I missed my humble 12x12 bedroom with the little closet in the corner, a room decently large in comparison to my friend's, but dwarfed as a mouse to a mammoth when it came to the chamber that held my current residence.

As I left the bedroom, I realized just how little I knew about this Citadel of the Night. Truth be told, I knew more about the almighty Espadas than I did about the castle they called home.

That, I concluded with a sly grin, needed to be remedied.

I returned to the couch and tossed the towel on the ground, random sheets of paper lay scattered across the table. Some were covered front and back with notations while others were coated in random doodles and drawings, but the majority were still blank. One of my pens had run away at some point and I was still searching for it, wishing my visions would tell me where it might be hiding. Curse my inability to control them.

Necklace safely reattached, I put my coat back on and readjusted it comfortably while a fleeting glance passed to the cart. All the food they brought me went delivered and checked, but utterly untouched._ Fourth tray and counting,_ I thought with an internal smile.

My whole life I'd been raised to never let food go to waste, so seeing that plate of perfectly intact—perfectly cold—tilapia broiled and seasoned with lemon pepper and garlic and served with a side of peas, corn, and asparagus almost made me feel guilty. Almost.

The thought of their wasted efforts stole a chuckle from me and I imagined their looks of frustration while I let myself starve. The aching pain in my stomach was well worth the thought of their faces—Aizen's and Ulquiorra's—twisted in displeasure. Simply imagining Ulquiorra's cryptic disposition cracked with even the slightest hint of agitation was enough to keep me steered clear of any food they brought in.

I wanted to make that doll split with aggravation.

Holding my rings to keep them silent, I poked my head out the door and checked if the coast was clear.

Not a soul in sight. _Literally._

The halls, sparkling clean with every detail identical, seemed to stretch on forever. Each plate in the tile floor was the same dusty blue marble as the last, seemingly untouched by the occasional passer-bys. So many new scents filled this place, and I slowly became aware of an air of change permeating to the core of my very being. I realized just how different this world was from my own.

At home, I was simple, normal. My powers alone made me different, but I was sure to keep them secret. Back in the real world, I was one of many. I wasn't anything new or special, just a regular teenager. Here, however, I was a rarity. The first of my kind. Not only was I human—one of four, to be exact—but I was _alive_. No other living creature had set foot in this realm before me, and I had high hopes that none would follow.

This world was not meant for the living. It was completely inhospitable. There was no food, no water, nothing; only white sand and starlight. It was a world built for monsters; demons with a bloodlust so inconceivable not even the deepest, darkest fears of man could comprehend the horrors of their existence. It was a world for Hollows, Menos, and Arrancars; horrendous beings—once innocent souls themselves, but fallen to darkness—that lived off death and the devoured souls of the innocent.

The only reason I was still alive was because of my purpose. Aizen wanted me alive, and thus none of the Arrancars were allowed to kill me. Ulquiorra just seemed to discover a way around that and simply beat me.

The memory sent a shudder down my spine and I pushed it away, distracting myself by examining my surroundings. It took until now to realize it, but my path had come to an end, finding myself standing amid a hemispherical room at the end of the long hallway, many archways laid out before me with a torch above each. I looked back at where I'd come with astonished eyes, awed and wondering as to how I'd managed to cover so much distance without realizing it.

A new sensation came over me as I returned to the archways. Suddenly, I didn't feel as threatened. I felt strangely freer, almost safe. Like I wasn't burdened with the knowledge of my current state of being. The weight of my fears disappeared and I smiled, picking a hall at random and jogging leisurely through it. Around me, I watched the dusty, plum-colored walls and matching columns sweep by, the seamless marble floor blurred under my feet. Though, no matter how good I felt, I couldn't help the wary feeling wanting to know where I was going. But there wasn't time to wonder for long.

The moment I reached a corner, an impact sent me backpedalling until a startled "Oomph!" had me landing on my tailbone, dumbstruck and unable to register the pain at first. Vaguely, I wondered what had happened, but my mind was quickly overtaken by an abrupt fit of laughter, cackling from my own klutziness.

Reminding myself of the situation was difficult and it took a few seconds, but I managed to hold my breath and look up, a wry smile trying to make up for my carelessness.

He'd been knocked off balance as well, whoever he was, and was sitting before me, stupefied from the bizarre confrontation. I didn't know this man, but the broad white plate across his forehead, the sword at his hip, and the white robes he wore were clear giveaways to his identity: Arrancar.

But that wasn't all he was. Out of nowhere, two words overwhelmed my thought process and my smile vanished. "P-Privaron Espada!" I blurted, and then felt myself shrink.

Everything suddenly snapped into place.

I was in the area belonging to the Tres Cifras, the place where the Arrancars carrying three-digit ranks lived. But the only Arrancars given three digits were the ones who'd had their original ranks revoked: the Privaron Espadas; members of the Espada who had been removed from the hierarchy and replaced. And this man was just such an Arrancar.

At first, he stared at me like I was speaking a different language, but then his expression focused and the lines over his eyes hardened. "Who are you, _niña_? What are you doing here?" His voice was thick with a Hispanic accent.

"Nothing," I quickly said, trying to keep calm as we got to our feet. "Just running around; bumping into people."

"Are you lost?"

"Well, I never really had a destination to begin with, so I don't think so."

He looked confused by that. Thick, pointed eyebrows pulled together and his whiskers ruffled. "You were just wandering around? That isn't very smart of you. It's not safe for a young one like you to be meandering about."

"Trust me, I know."

There was some dust on my pant leg, so I brushed it off.

"Oh! How rude of me! I am—"

"Dordonii Alessandro Del Socarcchio, Arrancar Number 103." I looked up once my leg was clean. "Right?"

He took the time to blink and recoil, and then stared like I had two heads. "Who are you, _niña_? What's your name?"

"Sara."

"Just Sara? Nothing else?"

"Well, I don't need my last name anymore, so I don't see much reason in giving it. Sorry if that seems rude."

I rubbed some granules of dirt from my hands, finding the texture gross.

Realization struck him in that instant and he snapped his fingers. "Say, you're that human girl! I've heard about you! You had some kind of psychic power."

_Heard of me? What, now I'm famous or something?_ I thought with a creasing brow.

"I guess you could call it that," I said, managing to hide my surprise.

He started busying himself with straightening the already-pointed tip of his goatee, eyeing me cryptically while I inspected myself to make sure there wasn't any dirt left. Any normal person would've wondered what he was thinking about, but I had no problem guessing. Psychic or not. He was considering what would happen if he brought me back to Aizen, claiming I'd tried to escape, and whether or not he would earn any merits for it.

A sigh fell from my lips and I rubbed a chill from my forearm.

"I don't mean to sound rude, but I don't think Aizen would give you back your old rank just for turning me in. You'd have to defeat one of the current Espadas to do that, and the only reason he took your rank away in the first place was because someone else was stronger than you. That hasn't changed."

"But I _am_ still obliged to bring you back." He dropped his hand. "Seeing how I was the one who found you."

_And just when I was starting to have fun, too,_ I thought and sighed on the inside.

"All right," I grumbled. "Just don't get carried away."

"How would I get carried away? I'm only going to bring you back to Lord Aizen."

* * *

"What sort of things are you able to see?" Dordonii asked, walking at my side while I tried to ease my hunger with a glass of water.

"_Mph._ All kinds of things," I responded after lowering the cup from my lips. "I can tell things about people after the first time I see them. I can see clips of events, past, present, and future, and sometimes I can read minds, but I don't really have full visions that often."

His eyes widened with amazement, but I was so used to it that I failed to see the significance anymore.

"That's amazing, _niña_! Such an incredible gift!"

My face grew warm and I had to look down.

"You really think so?"

"Of course I do! No wonder Lord Aizen values you so much. Having someone with abilities such as your own would make him nothing short of invincible!" He waved his hand in front of him as if to set a scene, then closed his fists in some form of victory pose. "Imagine it: knowing all your enemies' moves before they can _even plan_ them, knowing all their thoughts and motives, and which battles you would win and how to change the ones you might lose. There is no end to the possibilities! What I wouldn't _give_ to have a power such as yours, _niña_!"

"But, I. . . ." I fidgeted with my glass, staring at the distorted images on the surface. "I can't control it, and it's not like I can see anything at any given time. I don't know _everything_."

But he seemed adamant about the impressiveness of my gift, insisting, "Then you can learn to control it! That's all there is to it, _niña_!"

_Easy for you to say,_ I thought. _You're not the one with these powers._

The refreshing chill of the glass was beginning to fade into the warmth of my hands and I was surprised to find that we were still making our way out of the Tres Cifras' den, even though it seemed like we'd been walking for a while. Little twinges had been traveling along my spine for several minutes now, sending shudders throughout my body. I was trying my best to ignore them, but they were determined to keep my attention.

"But still," he began again after a moment of considerate silence, "I can't help wondering. What is your view on all of this?"

The question seemed foreign to me. Having someone want to know my opinion wasn't something I'd been anticipating. Not while here, anyway.

"What do you mean?"

"Weren't you frightened when you first learned of us?"

"Well, not _really_. I mean, I had a feeling that some of the things I was taught weren't true, but I didn't expect them to be false in _this_ way. When I found out about the Arrancars, though, everything just seemed to fall into place."

"_Really?"_ He sounded shocked.

"Yeah."

"Surely, you must have felt _some_ sort of surprise?"

"I did. A lot. It's just that . . . I guess I'm just not very good at registering intense emotions."

"Like an Arrancar."

I looked at him, stunned by the sudden accusation. He was stroking his goatee thoughtfully.

"_What?"_ I exclaimed.

"I suppose that's how it is with Arrancars as well. We aren't human anymore, so we don't register emotions very well. You said that is what it is like with you, correct?"

"Well, yeah, I just never really thought of it that way before."

His expression turned to a kooky grin, smug in the knowledge that he'd discovered something before me. I shook my head to myself, but couldn't stop a little smile. It was difficult to believe that such a goofy individual could have been an Espada at one time. _Maybe he got kicked out because of his personality,_ I mused to myself.

Dordonii was nothing like the Espadas I knew. He had an older appearance than most of the faces I'd seen, maybe around his mid-to-early thirties, with a perfectly pointed mustache, chinstrap, and goatee. He was much more talkative and strange in his own way, able to hold a conversation without sneering or letting an awkward silence build. And his choice in uniform matched his charisma: bellbottoms and heels, a row of tassels dangling from each forearm, and a floppy red sash to hold his zanpakutou.

In truth, he looked more like a male flamenco dancer than a heartless killer.

But no matter how strange he seemed in my eyes, I always remembered that, at one time, he'd been among the most elite of the Arrancars. Part of an army so devastating it could decimate an entire world were the order ever given. More than that, a thought that truly frightened me was that no matter how powerful he may have been at one time, there were still many others who were _far_ stronger than him. His powers, once great, were dwarfed by the new Espadas.

Dordonii stood no chance against any of the current ten, and we both knew it. Those individuals were not only powerful enough to have knocked him from his pedestal, but to throw him out amongst the lowest of the low where he was quickly forgotten. To them, he wasn't worth the wasted breath of a mention.

With beings that powerful, a lowly human like me wouldn't even be able to lift a finger to save her own skin. Were she to have an unfavorable encounter. . . .

Another chill ran up my spine and I shifted my step in hopes of driving it away.

"What do you miss the most about your home?" he began again, ending the silence that had been forming.

A solemn smile curved my lips. I was grateful for the distraction, but not for the choice in subject. "Where do I begin?"

Surprisingly, it was a relatively long list. Beginning with, of course, my loved ones, it went on to my daily activities. From hanging out with friends to watching TV and playing video games, and even school, there wasn't much I _didn't_ miss. Maybe apart from homework, chores, and having to get up early, there were so many things I'd taken for granted.

Sometimes, however, he had to stop me and ask what certain things were.

It was curiously difficult to explain what televisions and game stations were, as well as cars, cell phones, and the Internet. But it was well worth the effort to see his face switch between confusion and amazement with all the technology man-kind had invented over the past few decades.

". . . So, you type a subject into this 'search-engine' and it tells you everything you want to know?" He was completely oblivious and it was hilarious.

"Well, sort of. What it really does is take you to another page with a long list of other pages that you would click on. And each new page has something about the subject you were looking for."

His eyes widened in amazement.

"_Increíble!_ And you can access all this information from anywhere? At any time?"

"Yup."

"And what about this 'iPod' you mentioned? What does that do?"

"It's a little device about yay-big with a screen and a dial you turn your finger on. You plug it into a computer and use a program to take music from the computer and download it onto the iPod. That way, you can listen to all your favorite songs whenever you want to."

"And you had one of these devices?"

"Yeah. I guess you could say I'm a pretty big music fan."

"It must be very boring for you here, then."

"Sort of." I didn't want to sound rude. "But I'm not one to complain."

"By the sound of it, it seems like you had a very good life."

I smiled. "I did. I had a loving family and great friends."

He nodded and looked in front of him, trying to keep the conversation going. "So, do they think you ran away?"

"No." My voice turned sad without my realizing, and my smile disappeared. "They think I'm dead. I left a note saying I'd killed myself. I don't want to get their hopes up by looking for me. Especially since they won't find anything."

It shocked him like a bolt of electricity. "But that's horrible, _niña_!"

"I know." My gaze lowered to the floor. "But it was necessary."

Another voice broke in and my eyes widened with a quake of cold terror. "Perhaps you should have killed yourself. It would have saved you a lot of suffering."

Dordonii and I stopped and turned simultaneously to the same sight, watching horrified as he stepped coolly to where we could see him. His eyes were deep like a frigid sea, hands hidden in the folds of his hakama and with his body arcing just enough for his shoulders to lean back. His face was icy and stoic, an unbreakable mask.

"U-Ulquiorra!" Dordonii stuttered even more alarmed than I was. How could neither of us have sensed him coming?

Ulquiorra's eyes narrowed as if in warning. "You're out of your district, Privaron. Leave."

Dordonii's jaw went taut, not knowing what to do. I could almost hear what he was thinking. There was an argument going on in his head as to whether or not he should leave, knowing Ulquiorra would not take kindly to him staying, but at the same time he didn't want to abandon me to the merciless Cuatra.

He was so torn and confused. I pitied him.

"Go, Dordonii," I said before he could continue beating himself up, giving him a reassuring smile when he stared at me. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

"B-but I. . . ." He couldn't finish. My reassurances gave him an unconscious lean towards leaving.

At least he had enough honor not to turn tail and run.

"Trust me, I'll be all right." I tried to keep my smile warm for him. "It was nice to meet you."

His expression twisted ruefully at that, glancing back and forth between me and Ulquiorra many times before he forced himself into a conclusion. There wasn't much he could bring himself to say other than a polite farewell, but his gaze held mine as if to pass a different message: _"Good luck."_

He passed a final wary glance to Ulquiorra before briskly departing, not wanting his mind to change at the last second.

I didn't watch him go. I couldn't.

Ulquiorra waited until Dordonii was out of sight before he looked at me, his eyes bitter and iced.

"You lied. To protect him?"

"To make him leave." There was no emotion to my voice. I knew what was coming; there was no avoiding it. "He doesn't need to see this."

He started walking towards me then, the distance between us rapidly closing. Warning lights were going off everywhere within me. Survival instincts screamed to run after Dordonii and beg for his help, but nothing would save me now. I was trapped.

_Nowhere to run._

"Then you know what I'm going to say."

Three steps left before he was right in front of me. Fear of the upcoming event had me pulling in around myself, bracing mentally but my body couldn't move.

"And you know what my answer will be. . . ."

"You still refuse." There was a calculated harshness to his voice.

It wasn't a question.

I nodded, but nothing could prepare me for what was to come.

* * *

It could have been seconds, days. Maybe weeks or even years. It didn't matter. Time didn't matter. Nothing did.

I heard nothing but the sound of my own screams; saw nothing but the haze of my own blood; knew nothing but the harsh cruelty of my own pain. From the fresh aggravation of the bruise in my chest, to the burning flame of my right shoulder, to the hot, hot stream pouring from the gash in my left cheek; I knew nothing.

The world spun as I still tried futilely to struggle against him, my efforts weak and meaningless against his grasp. It earned me another sharp impact somewhere that didn't register. Everything hurt. What did it matter if he added to it? It felt like I wasn't even in my own body anymore. Like I was out on the sidelines watching him rip a poor defenseless doll to pieces. The time I picked to return to my body was a bad one.

He threw me like a rag doll through the open door where a hard landing and a painful skid greeted me. Only when my shoulder caught the carpet did the skid stop, but I tumbled end over end until my skull smacked the couch frame.

Retaining consciousness was a chore in itself. Breathing, however, was like having knives hammered into my sides. Ragged gasps were all that kept me awake.

"You should reconsider your answer," he said from the doorway, pitiless and glacial for the body he had broken. "_Convincing_ you is starting to become a hassle."

There was a dull click from the shutting door. A beautiful sound, resonating harmonically through my numb ears. _Alone at last,_ I thought. _Alone to suffer._

Excruciating torments racked all the way to my core. I could feel the drenching heat on my face, how it soaked my neck and collar in a sticky coating. The smell was bitter and copper-ish. It was everywhere and it made my stomach churn.

I lay motionless, fearful that the slightest movement would further the pain. Not until I felt the full will to control of my body did I try things, twitching fingers and toes to make sure everything was accounted for.

I pushed up and shrieked from the sharp throb in my shoulder. My body screamed until, by some feat, I fell onto the couch. I held myself, so sure I was going to split in half from the pain.

My right shoulder burned from the dislocation he'd thrust back into place, searing me to no end. I considered how less the pain would be if it had simply been cut off altogether. The thought made me shudder. I sat up after a moment, hissing all the while and unzipped my coat to check my ribs. Nothing felt broken, at least. But all the ridges were either red or a sickening purple-blue, and I noticed the tattered edges of the cloth. The left collar was soaked utterly in crimson. My hand mopped across my face and the lack of resistance startled me. The drag of dry skin was replaced with the sticky slip of fresh blood.

My eyes widened. I felt like I was watching a horror film where the heroine puts her hand in what she thought was water, but she turned on the lights to find the expected transparency replaced by drenching crimson.

There was no pale skin to be seen on my palm or fingers. It was thoroughly covered in a thick mask of scarlet. I gasped in horror. Fearing the loss of so much blood, I wiped at it frantically. My hands swiped feverishly in an attempt to make the blood go away, only succeeding in smearing it and further soaking my cuffs.

The thick stream made it to my lips and I licked it away, startled by the metallic shock on my tongue. But what startled me more was that the blood—so _much_ blood—tasted. . . .

I'd never put much thought towards the taste of my own blood. It was coppery, metallic, like a paperclip or a penny. That much I knew. But the sheer amount of it this time really forced me to pay attention.

There was a bitter aftertaste, but it was quelled by a continuous flow. It kept the taste from getting old or unpleasant. Kept it _new_.

Dazed, I didn't realize I was licking my fingers now. Dragging my tongue along the side of each digit, tasting the dullness of salt, smelling the mix of copper and saliva. It was interestingly sweet. Surprisingly _addicting_.

A sudden crash snapped me out of my trance and I saw the Arrancar standing there. The assistant I'd seen before, remembering him from his green uniform. His eyes were wide behind the shadow of his white mask. At his feet was a shattered pitcher, the sheen of water mixed in with the ice and shards of glass.

He was in front of me before I had time to react. Too close for comfort.

"Miss, you're hurt!" he exclaimed, his arms held out before him helplessly as if to offer some form of assistance. "What happened to you?"

"_Get away from me!"_ I screamed and kicked my foot out, hitting him in the stomach harder than I thought possible. It felt like kicking an aluminum pole, but a sharp exhale left him and he stumbled back, nearly tripping over the table.

I scrambled to my feet with my heart racing and ran for the cart, the sudden burst of adrenaline clearing my thoughts. My ribs stung and my shoulder screamed as I grasped it for dear life, sensing him regain his footing.

"Please, I only want to help," he insisted, his voice winded in recovery. But the only voice I could hear was Ulquiorra's taunting cant.

"No! Go away!"

"Please—"

"LEAVE ME ALONE, YOU DAMN ARRANCAR!"

I grabbed a glass from the cart and hurled it at him, watching him dodge and gasp, startled. It shattered behind him and I started grabbing more things to throw: a fork, another glass, a ceramic plate, and then a knife that cut into his left sleeve.

"Calm down," he begged and dodged projectiles in-between pleas. "I'm not going to hurt you, I just want to help! Please, listen to me!"

"No! I don't care! Just—just _go away_!"

I shoved the whole cart forward and watched him backpedal to avoid it, finally stumbling back out the door. The cart hit the wall with a loud crash and things flew off into the wall, clattering noisily to the ground. The pain returned with vengeance and I keeled over in agony, mouth agape with a muted scream. Before I could recover from the shock of pain, something grabbed a handful of my shirt and pulled. It made my vision blur. I didn't have the chance to think about the consequences before I sunk my teeth into a wrist as hard as steel. There was a startled growl and a hard shove sent me to the ground.

"For your sake, I'll let that one slide," his angry voice snarled.

I looked up to meet his eyes and a terrible tremble disturbed the stillness in my shoulders. His upper lip was pulled back over his teeth, a hard glare wrinkling his brow. But his image blurred and I shut my eyes, choking back a whine before the tears finally fell. I hid my face in my hands and my sides quivered and ached.

Why did he always have to be there when I broke down? What about him triggered that in me? Why couldn't I just be left alone in my misery? I hated crying when others could see. It was so much easier to vent when no one else was around.

The tears made the blood run on my hands and they got sticky again. My head hurt. It was so hard to concentrate. I remembered my sides aching and my fingers fisting loose strands of hair, but it was harder to think when something lifted me up then set me down somewhere else. The velvet felt good to put my head on, a fresh, bloodless scent wafting from the sofa into my tortured lungs.

"How long are you gonna' keep this up?" I heard him ask, his voice tense while I curled into the inviting suede.

I blinked the sting away so I could see him. White was all I saw at first, from his pants, and then he sat on the table. His arms slung atop his spread legs and he leaned forward with an agitated stare.

"How long do you intend to keep up the charade?"

"Ch-charade?" I repeated weakly, trying to focus on the details of his face. It was hard since I couldn't lift my head. "What d'you mean . . . ?"

"You know damn well what I mean! You don't eat, you ignore everything I tell you, and you insist on pissing Ulquiorra off! I swear, you're just itchin' to _die_, aren't you?"

"I'm not invincible," I squeaked, my voice raspy with pain. "I know that. . . ."

"You sure don't act the fuck like it!"

I flinched from the curse and pulled closer around myself, ears ringing from the pain.

"I'm not invincible," I said again. My voice was lowering and I wasn't sure if he could even hear me anymore. "I don't have an hierro like you do. I can't protect myself the way you can . . . but I won't let him tell me I'm worthless." My legs curled closer to protect my tender core, arms held in defense for my insides. "I'm no one's servant. Not his. Not Aizen's. . . . I'm not weak . . . I'm not. . . ." I trailed off, unable to finish as my eyes grew too heavy to keep open.

I thought I heard him say something, but the encroaching sleep was suddenly too much to bear.

* * *

There was a vague sense of awareness and I found myself dreaming. At least, I thought I was dreaming.

It seemed so real, but at the same time, not. It was blurry. I felt like I was suspended on a bed of cotton, floating somewhere I couldn't see. Grimmjow was still there, but he was turned. His foot was on the table and there was a sheet of white paper in his hand.

"_Why does this sound familiar . . . ?"_ he asked with a faint, echoing voice.

_Weird,_ I thought and closed my eyes again. _I really do have a strange mind._

* * *

My aching stomach woke me again, a sick feeling creeping up the back of my throat and an abrupt heave sent me tumbling off the couch. I gasped and gagged, fisting the carpet with one hand as the other clamped over my mouth to keep anything from coming up, retching and heaving dryly. A nasty, acid taste burned the back of my throat. The world spun while I coughed, belching a bubble of vomit-flavored air. My body protested to each subtle move, stabbing pain at my ribs and shoulder and digging needles into my chest.

When things calmed down, I released the follicles of rug and wearily lowered my hand, a half-lidded peek searching about the room. No one was there but everything was clean. The glass was gone, the floor was dry, and the cart was nowhere to be seen. Guess they sent someone to clean it up, I figured. Gut wrenching nausea and dancing lights, however, prevented me from caring.

I managed to get enough awareness back so I could trudge to the bathroom and clean myself up, washing my face, my hands, and swallowing deep mouthfuls of water. I was so thirsty. I pulled my coat off, hissing at the pain, and did my best to clean the blood stains from the collar, but it was thoroughly caked in. It would take a lot to get it out, but with the tattered edges it might just be easier to have it replaced.

With a dazed sigh, I took a slow, hot shower and redressed, returning to the couch and tossing my ragged coat over the back. I laid my head on a towel over the armrest and I shut my eyes, waiting for the unconscious escape into a safer, darker world. Brief clinks sounded around my neck and echoed for a moment, and then I was back in the safety of my own darkness.

I couldn't be sure how long it had been this time. Time was getting harder to keep track of. Maybe I was already dead and my soul was just in a postmortem stupor, not yet aware of my passing. Was there even such thing as that?

Something told me it was stupid to think I was dead, especially since my twisting, gurgling insides reminded me otherwise. But I couldn't help wondering what it would be like to be dead. Would there be the heat of flames, or a gentle, pillowie softness? Or perhaps there would simply be blackness? Would I go to Soul Society? Or was I trapped in Hueco Mundo?

I vaguely remembered Grimmjow returning to check on me after a while, and he'd yelled and gotten angry about the new food that I hadn't even noticed. But he left shortly after with cart in tow and mumbled something that I didn't hear. A faint notion made me wonder how much time had passed since then and how I thought he should've been back by now. Maybe he'd finally given up and just decided to let me die.

Was that something he would do? I wondered. Something in me hoped it was, but something else hoped it wasn't.

I remembered thinking that if I really was going to die, that I wanted to see him again. Not my family or my friends, just him.

Strangely, I wanted to see that beautiful, scowling face again; to see those wild blue eyes, the smooth expanses, the prominent dips and ridges, and the rolling brawn and muscle that made up his fantastic body. I wanted to see the tight, tight skin that made up his muscle-packed physique. Maybe even—if it was possible—to be able to touch it, too.

I was bizarrely aware of how odd the fantasy sounded when I considered it, but it would've been my last wish had I really been about to die. . . .

A loud smack snapped me from my stupor and my head whisked upwards, seeing the foot placed atop the table. The black sock was lined with the white stripes of its sandal. I groaned and let my head down again, swallowing back the twisting of my belly and cringing at the harshness of his tone, but still savoring its maniacal beauty.

"Still not eatin', huh?"

His voice was harsh with irritation, but it was still, somehow, psychotically beautiful.

I moved my head "no." _Still the observant one, _I thought with indifference.

It felt odd to insult him, even in thought. I felt like he'd be able to hear me and end up beating me like Ulquiorra did, but I was glad that wasn't the case.

"_You stubborn idiot,"_ he exploded suddenly and I flinched at the sound. "You don't have any idea what you're doing to yourself! Your cuts won't heal and I bet you can hardly even move!"

My eyes squinted in aversion to the loud noise, a heavy feeling making it suddenly more difficult to breathe.

"'M not . . . hungry. . . ."

"_BULLSHIT!"_

A solid crack split from the table and the force of his spiritual pressure spiked, weighing down until my heart was stuttering against it. My lungs were desperate to move, huffing more frantically than in the aftermath of a marathon.

"I can hear your stomach growling from halfway across _Las Noches_, so don't you even _think_ you can keep giving me the same damn excuses." His snarl was fierce with rage. "Either you eat _this_, or I shove it down your goddamn throat!"

I opened my mouth and gaped like a fish out of water, feeling my back pop as it arched against the heavy force, desperate to give me the room I needed. My fingers clawed madly for something to grab—something for support—but came up empty no matter where they searched.

"G-Grimmjow," I gasped, clawing at my throat, "I can't . . . can't breathe. . . . Please, stop . . . !"

The iron sea receded then and a deep breath shot my lungs, hurting them and forcing me to cough before I could re-catch my breath in a feverish pant. From the corner of my eye, I saw Grimmjow sit, his face twisting with difficulty until the glare and irritation faded, leaving him pained but somehow calm. I remembered feeling marveled at the feat.

"I'm not leaving," he began again, straining himself with the tension of his forced repose. His efforts astounded me. Since when did he have that kind of self-control? "Not until you eat something."

"But . . . you don't have t—"

He snapped edgily, "Would you rather I force-feed you?"

Always in such a bad mood, I thought, feeling my brow smoothen. Always so harsh, so rude, and yet so beautiful.

He was impossible to resist when he got like this, when I was really paying attention to him. Even when my stubborn side told me to refuse out of spite, something in his voice and in his eyes made such a decision irrelevant.

My legs trembled as I got to my feet and the world felt like it was tipped on its side. I managed to stumble forward, nearly falling, until I was across the carpet and using the cart for balance. I took a breath to regain myself, sensing his eyes on me, then lifted the top off and took a minute to let my mind register what was there. Some creamy delight steaming in its red-rimmed porcelain bowl, the scent wafting through my senses and bringing me abruptly back to my old life.

I was sitting in a restaurant booth with my father and twin brother, leaning curiously over my dad's dish and asking what it was. He smiled simply and offered me a spoonful. Despite the scalding heat on my tongue, I smiled and complimented how good it tasted. The creamy flavor and light herbal seasonings were marvelous, especially with the tiny chunks of potato and even the occasional sandy grit of shellfish.

_Clam chowder?_ I thought, not fully understanding why it had to be so. _But, that's . . . one of my favorites. . . ._

* * *

Thank you for reading! ^_^

Also, _He Who Would Become King_ is published as well. You can check it out incase you haven't already. It's very short, but still very good!


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